A Tale of Two Dracos (But Only One Ginny)
by Anise
Summary: Worlds collide when Draco and Ginny make a desperate attempt to keep Voldemort from rising in an alternate reality. But first, they must confront the sinister secrets of their shared past... in both our world and their own.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yes, I'm FINALLY posting this fic! Yay! Also, check out the FIA Youtube channel. There's a new D/G video up at... FFN isn't letting me the post even though YT links are supposed to be legal here, so go to YT and search for "dgdotcomvideos". It's there! And it was a LOT of work... ;)

So check it out!

 _July 1st, 2002_

 _The Ministry of Magic, Somewhere in London_

Ginny glanced around Kingsley Shacklebolt's office. It looked more or less the same as the office of the Minister of Magic always had—shelves of leather-bound books and parchments, a large, mahogany desk, its surface scattered with quills and inkpots and manuscripts, weary owls flying in and out, carrying messages from other departments. She remembered so well when her father had worked at the Ministry, and it had seemed like a fascinating, forbidden place to her childhood self, full of magic and secrets and mystery.

Well, it had lost its fascination now.

"I'm not going to do this," said Ginny flatly.

"Ginny Weasley," said the minister in his deep, sonorous voice. He said only her name, no more, but she stiffened at the tone. It was almost the same one her father had always used when he was disappointed by her, or sad because of something she had failed to do. There was no menace in it, no warning, no real anger. And somehow, that made it worse. It was the voice that Arthur Weasley had always used when he reminded Ginny of her responsibilities, and when he felt that she hadn't lived up to them. It made her feel sad and inadequate and defensive, and filled with fear, somewhere in the bottom of her heart, that he was right. That she hadn't done enough, hadn't lived up to her duties. That she could do more, and he would not let her get away with less.

Maybe Shacklebolt had actually learned that voice from her father for this very occasion.

But at least he hadn't said, _this is what your father would have wanted. This is what your father would have asked of you. If only he hadn't died in the war, if only Fred and George had survived, if… if only._

"Yes, I'm well aware of my name," she snapped, knowing just how ungraceful she sounded. "My answer is still the same. You don't know if this is going to work. You don't even know if it's real, just that it's theoretically possible. All you know for sure is that if it did work, I'd have to meet… that I'll have to see, to hear…" She licked her lips, which had gone bone dry. "Him."

"I know. And I am more sorry for that than I can say." The Minister's voice was very quiet. Maybe he'd lost the ability to speak any louder during the last half hour of repeating the facts again and again, thought Ginny, laying out the arguments, trying to overcome her objections to this insane project, one by one.

And he had. Or he almost had, or would have done, anyway. But then, at the very end, he'd told her what this thing would really involve. Who she'd have to face, and perhaps fight, and certainly somehow outwit and overcome. The man, and he had once been a man, who had laid a shadow over her entire life. Who had dealt her a wound that had never truly healed. Who had taken her father and three of her brothers from her, who had turned her mother into a shadow of her former self.

 _No. No, I won't, I can't._

"I really can't," she whispered, realizing too late that she had spoken at all. "I wish I could, I really do, but… but no." Her voice gained strength.

She had fled the wizarding world and started her own life after the last battle, five years before. She would have destroyed herself if she had not; she understood that now. And she had rebuilt her fragile self too recently, the structure of her personality was still much too unsteady, and the slightest push in exactly the wrong spot could topple her over. She could not do what the Minister asked. No!

Shacklebolt stood silently. Had he finally figured out that there was nothing more he could do or say that would convince her to take part in this insane attempt? Whether he had or not, his silence was even worse than his pleas had been.

What would happen if she simply started for the door? Ginny wondered. This might be the perfect time to flee. Harry was somewhere in the building, and at some point, he was bound to come into this office. He was an Auror, after all, the youngest one in the division, of course, a rising star, and he might consult with the Minister ten times a day for all she knew. It was amazing that she'd managed to avoid running into Harry so far.

But then, if she left, maybe she'd run into him in the corridor. That would be even worse.

And she'd rather die than see him.

As she hesitated, Shacklebolt opened his mouth and began to speak again. She had a horrible feeling of foreboding before she even heard the first word. And with each passing word, she knew she'd been right.

"In this alternate reality, there was a second child," the Minister said. "Another whose life Thomas Riddle touched and tainted. Another who barely escaped with scars that perhaps never truly healed. "

"Another… child?" Ginny whispered, turning back.

"Yes, and one even younger than you were."

Ginny closed her eyes, seeing herself again at the age of eleven, a pale, small child, short for her age, dressed in patched robes and shoes shined to conceal their shabbiness. Eager and naïve, easily led to near-destruction. And the Minister was talking about a child even smaller than she'd been then. She pictured a little girl like a younger sister, looking up at her with pleading eyes, begging for her help…

He went on, his voice smooth and rich, impossible to ignore or block out. "Another child who grew to be an adult who tiptoes on the edge of destruction. But perhaps… that person could be saved, as well."

 _Oh, gods no. It doesn't make any difference, it doesn't! I'm not changing my mind. I'm not agreeing to do this thing. I don't even know who this hypothetical child is! And I still don't believe for one second that any of this will work, anyway. The entire idea is crazy…_

Having thoroughly decided all of that, Ginny walked back towards the minister's desk. "I'll do it," she said.

He smiled, white teeth flashing in the golden light that spilled from the floor lamp. "Thank you, Miss Weasley." He began to go over a sheaf of papers.

Don't thank me yet, thought Ginny. She still didn't believe that this insane idea to travel to an alternate reality and somehow affect its outcome was even possible. It was past any magic she knew or had ever even heard of. But… but before the knowledge that a second child was somehow tangled in Thomas Riddle's web in that other reality, she'd hoped that she was right about this impossibility. Now that she knew, and she felt oddly sure that what Shacklebolt had said was true, she hoped that she was wrong.

"The spell is nearly complete," said the Minister, straightening up. "I will return shortly, and then we will perform the ritual." He turned to leave. Then, just before he went through the door into the corridor, he turned back to Ginny.

"Ah, I almost forgot. You will be working with a partner."

Ginny had been leaning over the desk. Now, she shot upright. "What?"

"I'd believed when I first contacted you regarding this matter that your efforts would be sufficient," said Shacklebolt in his softly lilting voice. "But I was not correct. You will need a partner, and he ought to have arrived by now."

For an awful moment, Ginny was sure that she knew who this as-yet-unnamed partner had to be. _Harry Potter._ Which would also explain why Shacklebolt hadn't told her right away. Everyone in the wizarding world certainly knew about their disastrous breakup, two years after the war had ended. Although their relationship would have been a whole lot more disastrous if it had gone on any longer, she knew.

 _Oh, gods. That has to be it. Harry is going to walk through that door any second._

And it would make a horrible kind of sense for her unnamed partner to be Harry, because he was, after all, an up and coming Auror. He was probably being sent as an expert of some kind. She'd have to work with him, and she'd guessed right away that she'd have to be working closely with this as-yet unknown partner. And every time she looked into his face, she would remember the sight that she could never forgot. Harry on the battlefield at Hogwarts four years earlier, his eyes stunned and blank, the enormity of what he'd done hovering somewhere just outside his mind. Or rather, what he hadn't done. He had finally played the hero, yes. He had defeated Voldemort. He had saved the entire wizarding world.

But he had waited too long to save _everyone_ in it. Or nearly everyone.

Too many had died that day- people who almost certainly would have survived if Harry hadn't hesitated just those few crucial minutes before going out to meet Voldemort. Half of Ginny's family were among them. And she could never forget that.

But she couldn't back out now. Ginny knew that. If Harry was there, perhaps that was even more of a reason for her to be there too in order to help the child. She somehow didn't think that would be Harry's biggest strength. She took a deep breath.

"It's Harry. Isn't it. He's going to be my partner," she said resolutely.

"No, Harry Potter will not be accompanying you," said the minister, breaking into her thoughts.

The wave of relief that surged through Ginny left her weak in the knees. She clutched onto the back of a chair for support, as surreptitiously as she could. "I don't mind who it is as long as it's not Harry," she said, much more honestly than she had meant to do. "You… " She hesitated. "You do know why, don't you?"

Shacklebolt looked sad for a moment. "Yes, I do."

A small screech owl fluttered between them then, and the Minister took a scroll from its proffered beak. He scanned the lines. "Your partner has arrived. I will send him in now, and I will return shortly."

"I don't care who it is as long as it's not Harry," Ginny said fervently, and less quietly than she would have liked.

Was there actually a hint of a smile on Shacklebolt's dark face? No. Surely not.

As Shacklebolt walked out, Ginny heard footsteps approaching the door from the other direction. Nobody, Ginny decided, could possibly be worse than Harry, no matter who her partner turned out to be.. She'd rather have a _nyone_ than him.

As soon as the door opened, she was reminded of an old saying her father had been fond of repeating.

 _Be careful what you ask for. You just might get it._

Draco Malfoy walked into the office of the Minister of Magic.

Ginny could tell that he hadn't seen her right away. He couldn't possibly be so calm if he had spotted her on walking in, so undisturbed. And he looked as undisturbed as always, as if nothing could possibly ruffle his smooth, privileged self. As if he stood a bit apart from the common herd, a tad above those who weren't in his class. She knew she was being unfair even as she thought these things, but she didn't particularly care.

He was as striking as ever, she saw. He had grown into his unusual looks a good bit more than he had at the age of seventeen, when she'd done so much more with him than she should have, or nineteen, when she'd last spoken a single word to him. He had the look of a young man now, not a boy. She drank in the sight of him for those last few moments before he saw her, when that handsome face of his would doubtless twist into a scowl, just as it had done that last time they'd spoken four years earlier. As always, he wasn't conventionally handsome, not really. His cheekbones were too high, his nose and chin too pointed, his silvery gray eyes too large for his pale face, his body a little too lean, his hands and feet too large for his slight build.

And yet… as always, he was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Ginny's face twisted in a scowl that could match any of his at that thought. Unfortunately, her face still wore the unpleasant expression when he walked out of the vestibule and into the office itself, and that was how he saw her. Too late, Ginny realized it.

He didn't match her less-than-welcoming expression, which was what she'd fully expected. But his eyes widened in astonishment.

"You?" he asked, in the same drawling, deep voice as always.

"Yes, me," she snapped.

" _You're_ my partner in this project?"

The scowl crept back over her face, and she made no attempt to hide it.

"Yes, I am. And I'm not any happier about it than you are."

His face closed and hardened until he looked exactly the way he had four years before, on the day when she'd told him that she was leaving the wizarding world and could have nothing more to do with him, ever again.

"I'd hardly dared to hope for such a charming partner, Weasley. You've always been such a delight to… ah… work with."

 _Oh!_ Ginny shut her mouth, feeling her face turn red. Why couldn't her partner have been someone besides Harry _or_ Malfoy? There were certainly more than two men in the wizarding world. Why couldn't it have been Dean Thomas, or Colin? She supposed that she would already have known walking in that day if Colin were her partner, because he would have told her, so it wouldn't have been a surprise. Colin was almost the only person she still knew from the wizarding world. A lot of it, she suspected, was because Colin's mother, brother, and uncles had all died in the last battle. But then, they'd always been friends.

Or Luna? Or shy little Astoria Greengrass? Or, oh… anyone at all.

"I suppose it's much too late to request a different partner," Malfoy was muttering now from the other side of the desk.

"Yes, I think it is. Look, I don't particularly want to work with you, but—"

"You think I do?" snarled Draco.

She stepped backwards as if he'd tried to hit her. She shouldn't have cared if he made it clear that he'd rather be partnering with anyone else; his words shouldn't have been insulting. But they were.

"Are you backing out?" she asked.

Malfoy sighed so softly that she wasn't sure she'd even heard the sound. "No," he said in a clipped voice. "No, this project is much too important."

"Look, what I was going to say was that we've got to find a way to make it work," she said stiffly. "We don't need to… to like each other. But we've got to work together. If it's really half as important as Shacklebolt makes it out to be, then we've got to do it, if it even can be done."

Draco turned away briefly, so that she couldn't see his face, and then back towards her. He walked round the desk so that he was standing closer to her. Ginny wanted to shrink back, but forced herself to stay in place through an effort of will.

"Has he talked you into this as well?" he asked in a neutral voice.

"Yes," admitted Ginny. "Do you honestly think it's going to work?"

Draco shrugged. "It seems pretty bloody unlikely. I've never even heard of any magic that could transport us into an alternate reality, let alone allow us to influence events in it."

"That's what I thought as well," said Ginny. "But… how much do you know about this thing?"

"It's all pretty vague," said Malfoy. "Shacklebolt essentially told me that the spirit of Thomas Riddle is threatening to rise again, and he's somehow manipulated his incorporeal form so that he can't be stopped in our… reality, I suppose. The only hope, according to the Minister, at least, is somehow traveling to an alternate version of our time and blocking Riddle there. Nothing much more specific, though."

"That's what he told me," said Ginny. She drummed her fingers on the desk. "I have to be honest. It all sounds pretty dodgy to me as far as our chances of being able to accomplish anything. Or even getting there in the first place. I've never heard of anyone doing this successfully, or really even making a serious go at it. Time Turners and Pensieves are the closest things I can think of, but this… I just don't know if there's any real chance."

Malfoy nodded. "I agree. But if there's even a possibility that this is the only way to end the threat of Riddle, or Voldemort, or whatever name you choose- then I'm in." He studied her face. "What?"

"Nothing. I just…"

He raised an eyebrow. "You seem surprised."

"No. It's not that." She was surprised to hear such direct words from him, but also glad. And since there was no way to express that mixed emotion without revealing much, much more than she wanted to, Ginny decided that changing the subject was the better part of valor.

"So who did you think your partner was going to be?" she asked.

He smiled, that familiar half-smile of his that could transform his face if he allowed it to widen just a bit further. "I really didn't have the least idea. I hoped like hell that it wasn't Potter, though."

Ginny couldn't help but laugh at that.

"So I'm not quite as dreadful as Potter would have been?" The smile flirted with a grin.

"No, you're not as bad as Harry," Ginny admitted.

The brief silence that fell between them was almost friendly. Almost, thought Ginny.

"Why did you say yes to this project, Malfoy?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Oh, a variety of reasons, I suppose. Shacklebolt's informed me that two children are at risk in this reality, and for whatever reason, we're the only two who have any chance of rescuing them," said Draco. "So… I said yes to his proposal."

"That's what got you to do it?" she asked.

"You sound so incredulous, Weasley—how flattering," Malfoy said dryly.

"But why else?" Ginny pressed the issue without quite knowing why. "I can't believe that's the only reason. Is it?"

His face closed again. "My other reasons are my own."

She scowled. Just when she thought he was exhibiting thirty seconds' worth of decent behavior…

The office door opened again. Shacklebolt had returned, holding a small cauldron and a dark velvet bag.

"The time has come," he said simply. "We must act quickly. Mr. Malfoy, Miss Weasley… Professor Bufflebuns." The Minister gestured to the small, round man trailing behind him.

Ginny had to bite her tongue hard to keep the awful bubble of laughter in her throat from making its way to the surface. _Bufflebuns!_ She didn't dare to look at Malfoy. He'd always had a way of sharing subtle jokes with her, of allowing just a bit of warmth and humor to slip through his cold façade, and she had a feeling it would be no different now.

"Yes, yes, very quickly _indeed_ ," trilled Professor Bufflebuns, bouncing into the room. His multicolored robes swirled around him like a melting rainbow Ginny had once seen in a dream after sampling just a bit too much of a new Datura plant. "You both represent the _only_ hope of the wizarding world. And how lovely it is to _meet_ you!"

"I, ah, don't believe I remember you from my own Hogwarts days," said Malfoy.

"Professor Bufflebuns teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Shacklebolt.

 _Oh dear_. Remembering the lack of job security for teachers in that specialty at Hogwarts, Ginny felt a twinge of pity for the elf-like man.

"Yes, _yes,_ for the past three years," added Professor Bufflebuns. "Such a delightful topic."

Ginny glanced at the little man with more respect. _He's tougher than he looks,_ she thought.

"At any rate. _Tempis fugit_ , and all that, so we'd best get started," said the professor. He began to set up the little cauldron and pour various liquids into it from a set of capped bottles. The atmosphere grew more serious, somehow, even with Mr. Bufflebuns still almost splitting his little fact in half with a grin.

"If I might trouble you, Minister, I have a few more questions," said Draco Malfoy. Ginny noticed that the supercilious tone had completely left his voice. She decided that even if none of this plan worked, it was all worth it to hear Malfoy sounding completely serious for once.

"This is the final opportunity for any questions you may have, so I believe that you should ask them," said Shacklebolt.

 _Final opportunity,_ thought Ginny. _I don't much care for the sound of that._

"Assuming that this does work, that is," Malfoy went on, and Ginny thought again that he no longer sounded incredulous about the possibility. "Will… ah… Miss Weasley and I somehow experience the entire lives of these other people?"

"It's impossible to be completely precise," said Shacklebolt. "However, I believe that you'll both experience only the most relevant parts over a brief period of time. Several days when both of you have important interacts in this reality, perhaps."

"So this actually will be some sort of alternate reality? It's not just an illusion?" asked Ginny dubiously.

Shacklebolt glanced at the professor. "No, no," said Bufflebuns as he measured a silver spoonful of glittering powder and tipped it into the cauldron. "It's all _quite_ real. The events are actually happening at the very same moment as in our world. It's only… you know… not in the _dimension_ we experience. On an astral plane, and all that." He waved a chubby hand vaguely. Smoke suddenly billowed from the cauldron, and he coughed, waving the hand more vigorously. "Don't be—ahem—alarmed," he said between coughs. "The potion's coming along _quite_ well."

It was all that Ginny could do to not trade glances with Malfoy. If she had harbored doubts about this project before, they were nothing compared to her feelings now. Or rather, her misgivings had shifted from the idea that any of this would work at all to the question of just how much might go wrong if it did succeed. But this Bufflebuns was more competent than he looked, she firmly told herself. Not that this standard was very high. He'd have to be, she thought, for him to be allowed through the front door at Hogwarts, much less teach there.

"You will inhabit those parallel lives," said Shacklebolt, speaking a bit hurriedly, in Ginny's opinion.

"For how long? I mean, could we actually be stuck staying there forever?" she asked.

"Oh, no, I shouldn't worry about _that_ one bit," said Bufflebuns, carefully pouring the dark, bubbling liquid from the cauldron into two small crystal goblets. "The underlying spells prevent the two realities from straying _too_ far out of phase, which is really _quite_ useful, when you think about it."

"But what if we don't finish… well, what we're supposed to do… before we're automatically brought back?" asked Ginny.

"The Minister has _such_ faith in the both of you," said Bufflebuns, handing Ginny a goblet. "I trust his judgment i _mplicitly_. I don't have the s _lightest_ doubt that you and Mr. Malfoy will succeed."

"Ah… but what if we don't? We haven't really been given the most precise information," said Malfoy.

"I do _so_ wish that were possible. Unfortunately, handling alternate but parallel realities can be a bit like predicting the future in crystal balls and tea leaves. The information's there, no doubt about it, but as to its _precision…_ But there's nothing to fear, nothing at all," said the professor, pressing a goblet into the younger man's hands.

"I suppose we'll need to keep the integrity of that other timeline," Malfoy was saying now, in the voice that had always meant he was terrified of whatever was happening but determined not to show his fear. "So we shouldn't reveal ourselves."

"There will be no need to worry about exposure," said Shacklebolt. "Your other selves will remember nothing, and know nothing, of the wizarding world."

"Well, yes, at least we're _reasonably_ certain that's how this will work," put in Professor Bufflebuns.

Ginny did catch the expression on Malfoy's face then, and it left her torn between horror and laughter. She knew that it mirrored hers. _What the hell have we got ourselves into? Is there still time to back out? Maybe?_

 _But that child… that second child, in that other reality… and that means that I'm in danger, too, and maybe even Malfoy, in some way that I can't even begin to imagine._

" I'm afraid that we do need to hurry this along; the spell will lose its potency quite soon. _Tempus est de essentia_ _s…. Essentium_ …

… oh, I never really was terribly gifted at Latin, you know… Drink up, now!" Professor Bufflebuns beamed at them from a round, pink face, his blue eyes twinkling.

Ginny nerved herself, lifted the glass, and drained it in one gulp. _Ugh._ From the corner of one eye, she saw the Malfoy had done the same, and that he didn't seem a bit more pleased with the taste. She thought of musty books and old cobwebs stirred into muddy water from the bottom of the Hogwarts lake.

"The spell should begin to act in only a few moments," said Shacklebolt.

Ginny fidgeted. For the first time, it occurred to her to wonder why both she and Draco Malfoy had been chosen. She knew that her own inclusion in the project was logically. She'd had that long-ago connection with the shade of Thomas Riddle, and it was a bond that unfortunately could never really be broken, no matter how desperately she'd tried to do so. But why was _Malfoy_ a part of this?

 _I suppose I already know that,_ she thought. _I wouldn't have thought that Shacklebolt and this Professor Bufflebuns would know, though. But then again, maybe it's their business to keep track of things like that._ She shivered at the memory of what she knew, the things that Dr— _Malfoy_ had once whispered to her, the things that had happened when Voldemort was at Malfoy Manor for an entire summer, and Dr— _Malfoy!—_ had found him there every time he went home for a holiday or a weekend. Hogwarts had begun allowing students to go home much more often, and every time he had done, Voldemort was there. And bit by bit, in little pieces, in hints, in confessions that she was never even sure Malfoy remembered later on, Ginny had heard so much of what happened—even though she'd always suspected that he had never told her the worst of it. Oh, yes, she knew all too well why Draco Malfoy was connected to Thomas Riddle, too-

The room suddenly wavered, then blurred, then began to run together like watercolors on parchment. She gripped at the table, and then she felt a hand in hers, oh, she remembered that hand so well, warm and strong, with long fingers, holding her, lending her the strength of its owner. She held to Draco Malfoy's hand as hard as she could, even as she felt his fingers dissolving into nothingness along with the room. The memory of the last time those fingers had touched her skin… her mental defenses were down in that moment, so she wasn't able to suppress the sensations as easily as she'd been able to do over the past four years. But it didn't really matter in that moment. And somewhere up ahead, the slanting sunlight of a late summer evening, brighter and hotter than anywhere she had ever been, and the scent of fennel and sage in the air…

 **Ori's Prompt (#1)**

 **Basic premise:** Draco and Ginny Silicon Valley AU

 **Must haves:** Ginny and Draco banters

 **No-no's:** No D/G offspring, no Ginny being Draco's admin or secretary

 **Rating range:** Any

 **Bonus points:** Ginny takeover Draco's company


	2. Coming Home

A/N: YES! You're not imagining it! This fic is actually getting updated! After some editing, it's ready to go. Enjoy. 😊

 _Friday, July 1st, 2002_

 _I-680 just past Santa Clara_

 _Northern California_

Ginny Weasley blinked.

She looked down at her hands. She was holding a steering wheel.

She looked up, through a car window. Scenery was rushing by at a frantic rate, far-off mountains, hills rising on either side, dry, dusty scrubland, shades of brown and tan with a few spots of green.

She sniffed deeply. The air coming in through the half-open car window was warm, and it smelled of fennel and sage.

She glanced swiftly to one side. The car seat next to her was empty, but she heard snoring and grumbling from the back. A large sign whizzed by.

 _I-680 S. Exit 21A 5 Miles. Calaveras Rd/Dumberton Br._

For just a moment, the words made no sense to her at all.

For an instant, Ginny didn't know where she was, what she was doing, or much of anything else.

Then a sleepy voice rose from behind her seat. "Gin?"

And the disorientation passed, vanishing like fog in a Portland morning after sunrise.

She was driving to California with her best friend, Colin Creevey. After six hundred miles, they were almost at their destination. This was really not a good time to fall asleep at the wheel. Now, of all times, she had to keep it together.

Maybe she should get Colin up and tell him it was his turn to drive…

No. They were too close.

Ginny reached up and swiped a straggling strand of hair where it stuck to her forehead. The air in the front seat of the van was hot and stuffy, and the fan wasn't helping one bit. She didn't dare to use the air conditioner. The temperature gauge always started to hover ominously close to red whenever she did. She knew that they needed to baby along the 1989 Honda Odyssey as long as possible. Maybe someday she'd own a vehicle from the new millennium, but her hopes weren't high that it would be happening anytime soon.

In the back bench seat, Colin stirred again. "Are we—"

"Don't you dare ask if we are there yet," Ginny said without turning her head round.

"I wasn't going to," he said in a voice that held a hint of a whine.

"After four hundred and twenty miles on I-5, I don't even want to hear it," she said.

"It does take a while to get all the way down here on the 5," he admitted.

"Ugh, don't say ' _the'_ 5\. That's what the Cali people say. The ones who are invading Portland and ruining it."

"But we're going to be Cali people now, Gin," Colin pointed out. He scrambled off the seat, forward, and sat back on his heels. "How long does it take to get residency? I think a year. After we've been living here for a year, we'll officially be Calis."

Ginny scowled. "Does that mean that we have to start saying that everything causes cancer? Oh, never mind! The point is, it's _Interstate 5_. Anyway, we're past it now."

She knew that her own temper was getting short. It was a long haul down from Portland, and the further she got from the city that had been her home for such a long time, she more unsure she felt. With each passing mile, she'd grown more and more nervous about what she was really going to find. She couldn't shake off the very real fear that nothing she found could ever measure up to all those years of dreams and childhood memories.

The whole thing still seemed so impossible. In a way, she couldn't believe any of it. Couldn't believe they had been driving for eight hundred miles, couldn't believe she'd uprooted her Portland life and her tiny fledgling landscaping business. Couldn't believe she'd received that letter and copy of the deed, that the opportunity had really come to do this and that she had really taken it.

That her childhood house of dreams was… would be… hers.

 _LA la la la, LA la la la, LA la la la LA._

The ring of her Nokia cell phone broke into Ginny's thoughts.

"Your phone's ringing," said Colin.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know. My hearing's really good, Colin. I never use power equipment without ear protection. Could you get it?"

"You're not going to answer it?" He tried handing it to her.

"No, I'm not answering the phone! I'm trying to drive, in case you haven't noticed." Ginny sighed. She knew she was getting to the point where every tiny little thing irritated her beyond endurance.

"Here, it's on speaker," said Colin, still pushing the black phone at her.

"Hello?" shouted Ginny at the Nokia, finally giving up.

There was only silence. Then a crackling sound. Then the speaker went dead. The hairs went up on the back of Ginny's neck, and she had no idea why.

"Could you look at the phone number, Col?"

He took the phone back from her. "408-555-1212," he said. "Doesn't look familiar. Do you still know anybody here?"

Ginny shook her head. "No… I mean, not that I remember, but I haven't been here in fifteen years. It's a San Jose area code though."

Colin shrugged. "Just a wrong number, then."

"Yeah…" Ginny found herself shivering, even though the June evening was far from cold.

"I mean, what else could it be?"

"I don't know. Nothing. You're right." Ginny resolved not to think about the strange call anymore.

She rubbed her nose and wished she had Sirius satellite radio in the van. The regular radio was iffy, and the only reliable station played oldies.

"L.A. is a great big freeway! Put a hundred down and buy a car… In a week, maybe two, they'll make you a star… Do you know the way to San Jose," sang Colin in his inglorious voice.

"I do not want to go to San Jose." Ginny rolled her eyes. "I want to remember the way it was before Silicon Valley destroyed it."

"You know, by 1988, a lot of tech was already there," Colin pointed out. "Steve Jobs invented the Apple in his garage in 1977. It wasn't exactly pristine ranchland."

Ginny looked ahead at the highway sign and gave a long, tired sigh, her heart beginning to pound in a way that had nothing to do with the hot summer day or her exhaustion after two days of driving. They were getting very close now.

"I know, but it wasn't as bad as it is now," she finally said. "Oh, Col—what if Sunol isn't the same either?" She forced the words past her lips, her greatest fear, really.

"I'm sure it'll be the same," said Colin. "And I'll know right away. You've only described it to me about eighty thousand times."

It was true. They'd met when they were both eight years old and she had been moved to Portland after the death of the family to stay with a distant uncle who was almost never around. He had sent enough money to support her, to pay for live-in babysitters and a nice Craftsman house near Reed College, but Ginny hadn't seen her relative more than once a year at most, and sometimes less than that. She had no clear image of him. He was a shadowy figure in her childhood and teenaged years, and he hadn't shown up at all since her seventeenth birthday. It had been a comfortable but lonely life.

Colin Creevey had lived next door to her home, and he'd heard her crying in the backyard, mourning her lost family and lost childhood in Sunol. They'd been friends ever since. They'd gone to grade school and high school together, they'd been in the same class at Portland State University, and they'd shared everything together. She'd been the first person he'd come out to; even in liberal Portland, he hadn't been ready to tell anyone else yet. But he was closer to her than her own brother, Ron, who'd always been gruff and closed, who had moved to Southern California and was now a junior officer in the LAPD. And she was the sister that Colin had never had. When she'd found out that her old family house in Sunol was hers, incredibly, there had never been any question that he would come with her.

And now… now, they were almost here.

She took the second exit and turned onto Paloma. The evening shadows were lengthening now, and the streetlights flickered. Then Niles Canyon. The walls of the small canyon rose up around the road. That was still the same, anyway. Now Main Street, which had never run through the middle of Sunol but was on the east side. There were a few small buildings, a McDonald's, a Dairy Queen. It didn't look much different from the way it had when she was seven years old. She was avoiding central Sunol, the part that would be most likely to have changed, but she did not feel safe at all yet. She'd been so lucky so far, too lucky to believe, really. It couldn't continue. They would turn left onto the final street and run right into a hideous mishmash of brand new condo monstrosities with a garish Starbucks on the ground floor.

"Do you think… do you think it's all still there? Including the other house, I mean? That bigger one you always told me about?" asked Colin from somewhere in the back of the van.

"I don't want to talk about it," Ginny said immediately. He was tired, she was exhausted; there could be no other reason he'd bring that topic up when he knew she didn't want him to. Not that she'd ever said in so many words, but he had to know.

But it was true that she'd told him about that much bigger house right next to her family's small home. The other house. The one she would not think about….

The crickets chirped and trilled. _Kilkare Road._ There was the sign, hanging askew, as always. She turned right. She inched up the drive. Then she pulled up in front of the little house.

She got out of the car, hearing the ticking sound of the cooling engine.

Night was falling. It was just past nine o'clock, and even during the long days of summer, it would be dark soon. She saw the shape of the small, boxy house clearly, though. It had originally been built in the 1950's as a hunting lodge, and some other houses were already being converted to larger buildings in 1988, the year she'd had to leave Sunol.

 _Wait… that means it's still here, it hasn't been changed._

Her throat tightened. It was the same, oh, all the same!

The same shapes appeared in front of her, lingering in the glimmering dusk. The steps leading up to the front door. The picture window in front, the one that looked into the living room, and the window on the right that belonged to the front bedroom. The square boxy shape with a garage beneath. The huge eucalyptus tree in front. The fennel plants everywhere. She knew they weren't native to the climate, knew that John Muir had stupidly introduced them to California almost a hundred years before and they'd become invasive, but oh, how she'd loved the sweet smell of that plant. Loved to pick up stems and chew on them as she ran through the tall summer grasses to the old oak tree.

Without thinking, her eyes followed that long-ago path that she hadn't run since she was seven years old. And then the shape edged into the corner of her vision, no, the group of shapes, massive and blocky. And she knew what they were.

She didn't really want to look, in a strange way. Suddenly, she wanted to grasp onto the memory from the past and keep it, because that could never change, never fade, never shift into something that she did not want it to be.

But like some version of Lot's wife, she looked up, and knew that she would have done so even if the act of willed vision had turned her to a pillar of salt.

Ginny looked, and she saw.

A massive set of shapes loomed in the darkness. Sher looked. She saw that other house from the past at the top of the hill, from what seemed to be an even more distant and foggier past than fifteen years earlier.

 _The house that spirits built._

The little boy had whispered that phrase to her, mouth to her ear, when they were both small children. That summer when she was seven years old. At least she thought so, even though she could never, ever quite be sure. Sometimes she was sure that she'd imagined the whole thing, especially the boy who had been her dream-playmate. Either way, she hadn't known what it meant then, and she didn't know now. But it looked like a house built by ghosts, that was for sure.

That house was dark, and silent, and it kept its secrets. It seemed too massive, suddenly, too real and too close. She shivered without knowing why, and she turned away.

"Come on," said Colin, touching her arm and leading her back to the little house that had once belonged to her family.

The key she'd been sent turned in the lock. Slowly, Ginny opened the door. She had no idea what to expect. The entire interior could be a wreck, for all she knew. When she fumbled at the switch inside the front door, the overhead hanging lamp flared into life.

"Does it look the same?" asked Colin from behind her.

She walked into the small dining room, her eyes wide, drinking in everything she saw. "Yes," she finally said.

It was the same, impossibly so. The tiny room with its breakfast nook and picture window. The built-in bookshelves… The connected living room, the fireplace… Even the table and couch and chairs looked like they might be the same pieces of furniture. To the left of the dining room was the miniature kitchen. Ginny walked into the room, wondering how her mother had ever managed to cook dinner without losing her mind or breaking every dish they owned. The window overlooking the side yard…

She turned to walk through the little corridor to her old bedroom. It was the same, a twin bed neatly made up with flowered sheets, a table, a desk, and the windows that looked out on the front and side. She touched the furniture as she walked around the room, feeling the worn surfaces, wondering if it was possible that it could actually be the same from when she was a child.

 _Home_ , she thought _, I am here, I have come home._

"There's water running in the bathroom," Colin called from somewhere behind her. "And there's another little bedroom back here. Everything seems to be working. Who do you think did all this?"

"I don't know," Ginny said absently. "I know… I need to find out a lot more about what's going on here, but not after driving a bazillion miles."

"I'm going to fall asleep and start sleepwalking if I don't go to bed right now," yawned Colin. "Night-night, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite, see you in the morning, Gin."

She nodded and headed for her own tiny bedroom, changing into a ratty old sleep shirt and shorts.

Before she lay down in the small bed, she looked out the window by the side of the bed one last time.

Then she froze.

There was a light in a window of the house at the top of the hill.

She couldn't tell clearly from here which window it even was. But it was somewhere on the first floor, to the left side from where she was sitting on the bed.

 _A room with old-fashioned wooden paneling, exquisitely carved molding, a Persian rug on the hardwood floor… red window draperies, a beautiful canopy bed, a huge standing mirror… and it all looked larger than life to her, because she saw it through a child's eyes…_

Ginny jerked herself out of the fantasy, shocked at its strength. Except that it hadn't been a fantasy, but… but a memory. She had actually been in that room.

She shook her head. Impossible.

 _Why impossible, though?_ A voice whispered in her mind. She'd lived here for years when she was a child. She'd played with so many little kids who were always daring each other to go into abandoned houses and barns and sheds.

And then there was that blond little boy that her mind had always stubbornly insisted she remembered, from that summer she was seven years old and he was eight. She had never known for sure where he'd lived. But she'd always vaguely thought, that summer, that he was from the huge old house on the hill, although she'd never really seen him go in or out of it. He had always just been there, in the fields and the woods and the dusty roads near her family's little house. Nobody else had ever been there at the same time; she'd never played with him with any of the other neighborhood children present. But maybe he'd brought her into the house at some point.

This boy's face was more real than anyone else in her memory from that last year. Everyone else she'd known, the other children, the adults… they seemed so vague. But not the boy.

There was that slight problem that she'd never known if he was real or not, of course. She'd asked her brother Ron about the boy a time or two during the years since that summer, and he'd always said that he didn't remember any blond kid from that summer, and why was she talking about it, anyway. Then he'd scowl at her and leave to run around with the boys from the neighborhood, the older, tougher ones who drove souped-up cars up and down 82nd and Duke.

But if the little boy really had existed, and if he actually had lived in the house, it would have made sense for him to bring her up there at some point…

No, no, no, another, frightened voice insisted. You've never been in there. Never! And he probably wasn't even real, you probably just imagined him. You can't even remember his name. He probably never existed. That's what Ron always said…

She shut her eyes at the unexpected vehemence of the thought. When she opened them again, the light from the big house was out. She stood looking at the vast vague shape of the buildings for a long time before falling into bed. It had been a long, hard, tense day, and she drifted off into sleep almost instantly.

She ran through the long grass hand in hand with the little blond boy, giggling. They stopped when they reached the stream. He flopped down in a patch of wildflowers, and she fell next to him.

"I like you better than anyone I know," he whispered to her. She nodded. This was important somehow, although she didn't know how or why.

The fall wildflowers waved in the breeze around them, a torrent of red and pink and yellow and white and blue. They were blooming again, now that the rains were starting to come back.

He gave her a red-orange poppy, his pale child's face serious and grave. She caught her breath, looking at him. Even through child's eyes, she could somehow see how handsome he would one day be. The wild larkspur and lupines and anemones nodded above his head like a pagan crown.

"I will never forget you," he said to her, as if making a vow.

Chill dread clutched at her heart. "Why would you forget?" she asked. "I'm not going anywhere."

"But I am," he said, as if to himself. "I don't want to. But I am."

Her mouth turned down. The sun was suddenly colder and more distant, and the smell of the flowers less sweet.

He took her hand in his own. "No, I will never forget," he said, and this time, he was making a vow indeed.

But all Ginny knew was that he would soon leave her.

A roaring noise started to intrude into her consciousness, from outside the dream. Her rational mind stirred lightly, starting to wake. In those moments between dream and waking, she realized that she knew the boy's name.

Dirk… Drake… something like that…

The noise revved. Ginny's eyes popped open. She realized that she was hearing the vague roar of a car's engine outside, much too close to her window. She opened her eyes and struggled to sit up, shaking away sleep. She turned to look out the front window in the bedroom to see a new model silvery Mercedes idling at the bottom of the hill.

She could just see a tall, slender male figure getting into the front seat and closing the door. He was a blur, because her contacts weren't in yet, but there was something about his elegant, self-assured stance that set her teeth on edge. He was probably an arrogant yuppie from some brand-new condo building monstrosity all the way on the other end of Kilkare Road. As she watched, the sun flashed off his hair, as brilliant and silvery as his expensive car. But he was young, she could tell that from his quick, casual movements. Then the car drove away, and she sighed. The sun had barely risen, but she had a lot that she wanted to get done before she had to leave for San Jose. _Time to get up._

"I am going to have to get a job. I can't live off my looks alone," announced Colin over breakfast.

"Oh, so am I. Can you imagine the property taxes here?" Ginny swallowed her bite of scrambled eggs. The fridge and cupboards had even been stocked, which she was grateful for.

"I really, really hope there's not a Starbuck's in Sunol, though," Ginny went on, thinking of Colin's last job. "No offence, but I mean… it's never the same once the corporate coffee starts moving in."

"None taken. I'll ask around. The minute you get on 680, there's probably one Starbucks every hundred yards all the way to San Jose. Do you need the van today?"

"Well, I have to go to the Santa Clara County recorder's office to see the original deed, I guess. Other than that, I don't know," sighed Ginny. "Col, I have to find out a lot more about how I actually was left the house. We just don't know enough. We need more information."

"True," said Colin, propping his head on his hands and suddenly looking serious. "But that one lawyer said it looked okay."

"Yeah, well…" Ginny rolled her eyes and didn't elaborate on the thought. She'd already talked all the issues over with Colin so many times. About a month earlier, she had received a certified letter informing her that her uncle had transferred ownership of her childhood home to Ginny. A copy of a general warranty deed had been included, along with a set of keys. Ginny had written back to her uncle for further details without much hope of a reply, and she didn't get one. Colin had been able to get her a free half-hour consultation with a lawyer who was the father of one of his college friends, but that was it. Ginny was told that everything seemed to be in order and she did own the house, but the lawyer had one eye on the clock the whole time and talked very fast. Considering that he was giving her his time for free as a favor, she understood why.

The lawyer had advised contacting a Portland title company and ordering a title search. Ginny had gone ahead and done it, far from happy at spending the two hundred dollars. No competing liens had been found. But it hadn't left her much further ahead when it came to finding out what the hell was actually going on. Nobody had yet been able to find her great-uncle, for one thing.

"Hey, didn't you always say that your family had a lawyer friend?" asked Colin.

Ginny rubbed her forehead. "I mean… I kind of remember a family friend who was a lawyer… I think… his name was Mr. Bufflebee, or something… that can't be right. But that was fifteen years ago, Col."

"Maybe you should try to find another lawyer here," Colin said tentatively.

"Sure, with the billion dollars in savings I have," said Ginny.

"I'll lend you everything I have," said Colin.

"That's sweet, Col, but lawyers around here probably charge three hundred dollars an hour, so I would get about ninety seconds with one." Suddenly impatient, Ginny pushed herself back from the table. "I seriously need to go outside."

She walked outside and around the back of the house, looking out at the large tract of land behind and to one side. It abutted the land belonging to the much bigger house on the top of the hill, she remembered. But it was crazy, just how much property was considered to be a part of the small house. She really had a hard time believing that horrible upscale housing hadn't been built there a decade before. She kept walking.

How far back did that land go? She wondered as she walked through a field of tall grasses. Where exactly was the dividing line between the properties?

 _Her child self had walked through this same weed field with the little boy, hand in sweaty hand. They were heading over towards the big oak trees… This is part of my house, he'd said. A small, chubby man beamed at them both from the back of the house._ God, but how real this memory seemed. If it really was a memory…

Ginny frowned. But if she was making up the entire thing, then why was she remembering that man too? _Mr. Bufflebom?… mom and dad's friend… he had a big office in San Jose…_

Could that boy have been real? Standing on the land of her family's home in Sunol, the very place where she remembered seeing the boy, there seemed no reason why that was impossible. The fact that Ron had always seemed almost angry whenever she brought up the hypothetical child almost might be further proof of his existence, if anything. Maybe Ron associated the little boy with their family's death in the terrible car accident that only she and her brother had survived unharmed. Maybe Ron just didn't want to remember anything at all about that last golden summer their family had lived in Sunol, and the way she'd kept bringing up the boy was a reminder.

And maybe…

Maybe there was something about remembering the little boy that frightened _her,_ quite apart from whatever reaction Ron might have.

But that certainly didn't mean that he wasn't real. And if she'd tried to forget him, as she now knew she always had, there seemed something cowardly about that. Ginny scowled as she began to walk through the trees at the edge of the Kilkare Woods. Few things made her angrier at herself than thinking that she might have acted like a coward at any point.

But she couldn't really remember much of anything coherent about the boy, just the sharp, clear images of the times she'd been in his company. She remembered nothing about his parents, or seeing him with other children, or in any context that ever included adults. And she did remember all these things very clearly when it came to the other children who had been her friends when she was seven years old. . Then they had simply accepted each other's company, as small children can do. But they'd been closer than all her other little friends in Sunol, somehow.

Ginny shook herself. She didn't have time to go over all of it now, and that was for sure. It was ten o'clock. She needed to get to the Alameda county office of records to check the original deed. She silently thanked God that she wouldn't have to fight morning rush hour traffic into Oakland, but she still needed to allow plenty of time to get there. Also, she had no idea how long the process might take, and she did not want to get stuck in afternoon rush hour on the way back. She had a feeling that it probably started around two-thirty at the best of times, and on the Friday before the 4th of July, God only knew. So she had ample time to do what she planned to do next, but not unlimited time, and she knew that she'd better get started.

She walked through the copse of trees and then turned round and surveyed the property. Yes, it was really the same, or at least it looked that way. She might have dismissed her impression from the night before as only illusion born of tiredness and hundreds of miles of driving, but it was real, all right. Both then and now. And she hadn't been able to see any of the property in the dark, really. She'd never truly realized just how large it was. She scanned the boundaries. Eight acres easily, and a nice square shape, so it seemed even larger than it was. Well, that was if the boundaries between her property and the huge house at the top of the hill actually were what she remembered them to be.

So much space…

Dreams ran through her head.

She could run a nursery from here. Suppliers could come to her, and she could travel into Livermore and Pleasanton. Of course, ugh, there was no avoiding the San Jose market, and if she'd have to drive through Silicon Valley all the time... Hiding in a cave for the rest of her life might be preferable.

 _But I wouldn't need to do it every day,_ she thought. _I could spend most of my time here, in the new nursery._

The land was perfect, plenty of space with two streams on the property itself. That was often the biggest problem of all in this area for a nursery, she knew—the question of finding a reliable water supply. And it was so unusual, almost unique, to have this much land so close to Silicon Valley or the Bay area. She stood on the back steps of the tiny house, staring out over the fields of grass. _I can do it,_ she thought. _I really can. I can grow plants, I can hire people, I can start a business… and it would cost… oh, dear God, it would cost…_

Ginny gave a heavy sigh. It always came back to the question of money. The letter had also included a bank draft for a thousand dollars, which had seemed an enormous amount. But staring out over her land, the dollars shrank with each passing moment. It was zero cash compared to what she'd need to start a nursery. The greenhouses and equipment alone could cost more than ten thousand dollars. No bank would give her that kind of a business loan in a gazillion years unless she put up the house as collateral. And she and Colin would need to get jobs right away just to be able to afford to pay property taxes and everyday bills.

 _But maybe if I start really small… people do have backyard nurseries._

There was another option, of course. She could sell some of the land for development.

It would be easy to do, and she could get enough to make a great start on the business that way. Of course, she'd learned just enough about tax law to know what a dangerous idea that could be. If she lived in the house and on the land, then her great-uncle was the one who had to pay the gift taxes on it. But if she sold any part of it, then the tax bill would come to her. And the taxes would be based on the difference between what the land was worth when her great-uncle had originally bought it and its appraised value now. Ginny shuddered. She had no idea when he'd first bought this property, but she had a very hazy memory of her mother once saying that it had happened in the mid 1960's or early 1970's. Ginny knew enough about the explosion in value in California land to guess just how much of an increase that would be. It had probably cost about five thousand dollars then. The price now would be in six figures—and probably in the upper end of that range.

 _But that isn't the real reason to keep the land together, is it?_ She looked out at the creek, the wind whipping her hair. Of course it wasn't the reason. If she made hundreds of thousands of dollars on subdividing and selling some land, then a twenty percent tax bill would still leave her with plenty. The idea made a lot of sense. Most people would probably say she was crazy not to do it.

She closed her eyes and smelled the bittersweet complex scent of Sunol in the summer, the sage, the fennel, the wildflowers, the baked soil.

 _I would rather drop a bomb on it_ , she thought. _No. This land stays together. I don't care how crazy it is. I won't sell one square inch._

She walked slowly around the house to the front, then stepped out into the dusty little road. Ginny forced herself to tilt her head up and look at the huge house at the top of the hill.

The complex of buildings was there, all right. What she'd seen the night before had almost seemed like a dream, an illusion born of too much driving and not enough sleep. But the house was real. In the sunny light of day, she was sure about that. It was huge, composed of rambling buildings and gardens and dry fountains. She walked up the drive and turned the curve to see it more clearly. Yes, it was the same. The strange mixture of Queen Anne, Victorian, and California Mission styles, the fountain in front, the deep veranda, the turrets on top. It looked just a bit shabby, the white paint a little faded, a few shingles loose, but someone had clearly been taking care of it in the last fifteen years.

She realized that she had been afraid that this house was gone. In a way, she'd been more afraid of that disappearance, because she knew that her own old family house was still there. It had to be. But she hadn't set foot in Sunol or heard anything about what had happened to the town since she was seven years old. She'd been sure that this monster house had to be either torn down for condos or turned into a tourist attraction with people tromping all over it and taking pictures, like the Winchester house in San Jose that it resembled.

But it hadn't changed one bit. Not from what she could see.

Ginny walked around one side, not sure if she should set foot on the property or not. It wasn't hers, and she had no idea who owned it now. She wanted to see if she remembered how the side of the house looked. Yes, there was a tall cedar fence, exactly as she remembered.

And there was a small door set into the wall, just as before. The little blond boy had opened that door when he saw her coming towards him…

She stared, remembering, or trying to remember, trying to shape the fuzziness cradling the memory into the same clarity as the memory itself.

 _LA la la la, LA la la la, LA la la la LA._

Ginny started and then pulled the phone out of her pocket. Mr. Bufflebuns must be confirming the appointment, or maybe canceling it, or God knew what. She glanced at the number as she raised the phone towards her ear, and a chill ran over her skin.

504-555-1212.

It was the same number she'd seen when her cell phone had been ringing the night before. When she'd turned the speaker on and only heard a somehow ominous silence.

She forced herself to speak.

"Hello? Who is this?"

A slight pause. Then a strange male voice spoke, one that had a cold and creaking quality. It had an accent she couldn't quite place.

"Miss Weasley?"

"Yes, this is Ginny Weasley."

"Ah, yes, I'm glad to reach you," the voice went on, not sounding as if its owner were capable of ever being glad about anything. "My name is Peter Dinkins, and I represent Mr. Thomas Riddle."

It was as if a full bag of ice had been emptied down Ginny's back. That name. There was something about that name. She had no idea why, but the very words seemed to carry fear and menace in them. "What's this about?" she snapped, shoving courage into her voice.

"Mr. Riddle wishes to discuss a matter of real estate boundaries with you," said the voice.

"What do you mean?" asked Ginny guardedly. Oh, this did not sound good at all.

"Ah, it's a matter best discussed in person. He would like to arrange a meeting."

"Would you just tell me what this is all about?" demanded Ginny.

"There's no need to become upset," said the voice. "You've recently taken possession of the Sunol property at 2824 Kilkare Road, correct?"

"Yes, but—how did you know?"

"Well, that's the property under discussion," the voice went on as if this Peter Dinkins hadn't heard her question at all. "It's simply a question of correct boundaries and ownership. One that needs to be resolved."

Ginny clutched at the phone. "What do you mean, 'boundaries'? 'Ownership'? And resolved—how?"

Mr. Dinkins gave a patient, long-suffering sigh. "Very well. According to certain documents in Mr. Riddle's possession, the boundaries between 2824 and 2826 Kilkare Road are… ah… incorrectly drawn. Less than half an acre actually belongs to the smaller property."

"Only… _what?"_ Ginny found herself leaning against the cedar fence, struggling not to collapse. "That's just wrong. It's eight acres. I know it is. I saw the deed!"

"I'm afraid that the original deed is incorrect. Mr. Riddle is in possession of an older document which clearly shows the correct boundaries."

"That's impossible," said Ginny. "No. I talked to a title appraisal place in Oregon, they said they weren't any liens on it."

"Apparently, they were incorrect."

Ginny's chest seemed to be rising into her throat. " I have the proof," she managed to say, "and this Thomas Riddle is wrong!"

"Really, Miss Weasley, there's no need to become upset. I'm sure that this problem can be settled… ah… amicably. Mr. Riddle is the actual owner of the larger 2826 Kilkare Road property, you see, and he simply wants the land question settled so that it can be properly developed."

 _This Thomas Riddle is the owner… and that car driving down from the top of the hill this morning… it wasn't from some theoretical set of condos on the other end of the road. It was from the big house, and it belongs to whoever lives there… which is Mr. Riddle!_

In a flash, Ginny was sure that she saw it all.

The silver Mercedes she'd seen that morning hadn't been coming from _some_ theoretical set of condos on the other end of the road. It came from the big house at the top of the hill, and it belonged to whoever lived there… which was Mr. Riddle. _He_ was the man she'd seen driving the car, that arrogant blond who'd hesitated much too long in front of her house. He was the one who wanted to steal her land now, and who was apparently so sure that he'd get it without a fight. And the worst part of all was that he planned to use it for development, to throw up crappy expensive condos that would sell to a bunch of moronic yuppies just as arrogant as he himself clearly was.

 _No_ , thought Ginny. _No, not if I have to burn down the entire town. He won't get away with this._

"If this Mr. Riddle thinks he's just going to take the land, he has no idea how wrong he is," said Ginny.

"Oh, I believe you'll see that he's quite right about his ownership of the property," said Peter Dinkins.

"Oh hell no I think he'll see that he isn't!"

"I'm sure it can all be settled quickly," he went on, in a horribly self-satisfied voice that made Ginny want to reach through the cell phone tower waves and punch him.

"We'll just see about that!" yelled Ginny.

"Yes, I suppose we will." The voice on the other end of the line paused. "What? I wouldn't recommend—well, if you insist—"

A second voice spoke. It was low and soft and persuasive, with a strange accent she couldn't place. "Ah, Miss Weasley. I'm so glad to have the opportunity of speaking with you."

Each word seemed to wrap itself around her mind in a soothing tendril of sound. Ginny fought the pull as hard as she could. "Who's this?" she asked in a harsh voice.

"I'm Thomas Riddle. And I'm sure that between us, we can work this problem out."

"I'm sure we can't!" How alluring that voice was. How seductive. Ginny clutched the phone and leaned against the fence.

"Could you come in to speak with me today in, say, an hour or so? My office is located at 525 S. Winchester Boulevard in San Jose."

The voice had an unendurable power. If she listened for one more moment, she would do anything it said.

Ginny hurled the phone across the yard.

"Hey!" yelled Colin, dodging the missile. "Why are you throwing your phone at me?"

"Sorry," Ginny said sheepishly.

He bent and picked it up off the ground. "You almost broke the screen. You really shouldn't do that."

"I didn't mean to. I just—ugh."

"You really should control your temper, Gin," advised Colin.

"I know," she sighed.

"What was that even about?"

Ginny thought quickly. If she told Colin, he would just start worrying. He'd probably talk about nothing else for days. And he'd correctly point out that she _should_ have made an appointment to talk to this Thomas Riddle rather than violently hanging up. What she'd done had made no sense. She just couldn't face any of that at the moment.

"Nothing," she muttered.

"I know it's not nothing. I can always tell when you're upset, Gin."

"Yeah, just—" She ran a hand through her hair, realizing too late that she was making it stand on end and that it wasn't going to be a good look. "Not right now, okay?"


End file.
